Let me tell you about my pet (apparently) chicken. Lisa is one of The Ladies, as they are collectively called. She provides us with delicious brown eggs that are good enough to eat! Seriously, folks, if you have any room at all and want to make a big change in the quality of eggs you're eating, buy a few chickens. I cannot believe how yummy a hard-boiled egg tastes from these free-range, clover munchin', bug chompin' ladies. What a difference!
But I digress. Back to Lisa. We had five chickens--two Ameraucanas (Fiona, Stella, and Edie) and two Golden Comets (Mattie and Lisa) . All too sadly, Mattie died last month. It was heartbreaking. I will readily admit that I cried -- a LOT -- for that chicken. And since then, Lisa has seemed a bit lonely. Like she knows the other three are of a different breed, and she doesn't really fit in. They all get along and all, but Lisa is a little bigger and is a different color (can chickens see in color?), and I just think she feels a little out of place.
Enter me, Lisa's new BFF. We let The Ladies out to free range every day for anywhere from 30-45 minutes. They love to have new turf to scratch up and they are tremendously entertaining to watch. Lisa has taken to following me around . . . and if I bend down, rather than running away as she used to (and as the others still do), she will sort of crouch and wait to be petted. It's awfully cute to see. After a few strokes she'll get up, ruffle herself, and join her buddies in the scratching and bug chasing. But she never gets too very far away from me.
Sidebar: I was telling a friend this heartwarming, or what I thought was heartwarming, story, and he commented thusly: "I dunno, sounds an awful lot like Lisa is going into a breeding crouch for you. Apparently you're her boyfriend."
I will continue to think that she views me as a sister, or cool best girlfriend, or something. I'm no one's rooster.